


Getting Off Is the Best Revenge

by Deastar



Series: They Say Love Heals All Wounds [16]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Psychics/Psionics, Established Relationship, Homophobia, M/M, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-12 15:31:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11164794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deastar/pseuds/Deastar
Summary: Zhenya contemplates asking Sully to change up the line-matching, keep him away from Kohler, but he can’t – that’s exactly what the Sens want, and it’s rewarding Kohler’s tactics. Besides, what can he say: “Sully, that call-up is being mean to me”? Zhenya is a fucking NHL player. He’s been hearing shit like this his whole professional career. It just… it’s different now. It’s different when they bring Sid into it.





	Getting Off Is the Best Revenge

**Author's Note:**

> Content Warning: this fic includes some VERY nasty on-ice homophobic comments by an OC (Blake Kohler) and a character based on a real NHLer (Alex Burrows). Please read carefully or skip this one if that content sounds too upsetting (either for homophobia reasons or because it portrays Burrows in a negative light).
> 
> This fic is dedicated to all the morons in the hockey world who spent like a week of this playoff season attempting to argue that "cocksucker" isn't a homophobic slur.
> 
> Note: This takes place about halfway through the season after the end of They Say Love Heals All Wounds. Also, I know that there are no handshake lines in the regular season, but in this alternate universe, there are, because Geno needed an opportunity to commit an act of totally justifiable unsportsmanlike violence.

Blake Kohler is a little pissant fifth-round no-talent piece of shit who’ll be back in the AHL as soon as half the Senators roster isn’t out with whooping cough. But he seems to think he can earn a spot in the NHL by pissing Zhenya off every time the two of them are within three feet of each other – and since he seems to have been assigned to be Zhenya’s shadow, that’s happening a lot.

Right now, Kohler is leaning casually on his stick and saying, “Y’know, all the guys on my team figure it’s Crosby who sucks your dick – fuck knows he’s got the mouth for it. He’s such a little bitch on the ice, they figure he’s a bitch off it, too, figure he bends over for you.”

Zhenya breathes in and out through his nose, slowly – if he opens his mouth, he’ll only show Kohler that it bothers him, and then he’ll keep spitting this filth for the next fifty minutes. How long can this fucking video review last?

“But here’s the thing,” Kohler continues. “I look at the two of you, and I look at the way you’ve been panting after Crosby all this time, acting like his personal enforcer, following him around like you’re his fucking dog, and you know what?”

With a sinking feeling, Zhenya realizes he should have skated away as soon as the first word left Kohler’s mouth – if he does it now, again, it’ll be like putting blood in the water, and Kohler will smell it. It’s too late now.

Kohler grins. “I’m pretty sure it’s _you_. Big, bad Russian bear Evgeni Malkin, down on the floor begging for Princess Crosby’s cock like a dog for a treat. Who’d’ve thought?” He laughs—not meanly, which would be better, but brightly, like it’s the best joke he’s ever heard—and skates away for the puck drop, while Zhenya swears that he will get off the ice for every single break in play from now on, no matter how short, because the last thing they need in this game is for him to take stupid penalties.

But it doesn’t work that way. The Sens are doing it on purpose – Burrows is going after Sid, too, every time they’re on the ice together, riling him up. Zhenya doesn’t know what he’s saying to Sid, but it’s making Sid spitting mad, which feeds into Zhenya’s rage, too, making him boil.

And Kohler—fucking _Kohler_ —never lets up. He doesn’t need a TV timeout to get under Zhenya’s skin. In the time it takes to drop the puck, he’ll say, “Looks like you’re skating a little loose there, Malkin – too much time on your knees?” He shows up five seconds late to a pileup in the crease and snows Zhenya in the face, then makes an apologetic face, saying, “What? I thought you _liked_ getting it in the face!”

Zhenya contemplates asking Sully to change up the line-matching, keep him away from Kohler, but he can’t – that’s exactly what the Sens want, and it’s rewarding Kohler’s tactics. Besides, what can he say: “Sully, that call-up is being mean to me”? Zhenya is a fucking NHL player. He’s been hearing shit like this his whole professional career. It just… it’s different now. It’s different when they bring Sid into it.

Nothing seems to shut Kohler’s mouth – he keeps on Zhenya in the middle of a check, on a face-off, during a stoppage in play after the puck goes into the netting. And he doesn’t seem to care whether anyone else hears, either – not the refs, not his own team, and not the Penguins.

They’re right in front of the fucking Penguins bench when Kohler squints at him and says, “If it was the other way around, I could almost see it – I mean, Crosby’s mostly a girl anyway, you could just close your eyes, I guess. But you, Malkin...” He shakes his head, sadly. “It didn’t have to be like this.”

Zhenya doesn’t know what he means, and doesn’t _want_ to know what he means, but the minute play stops, Kohler’s back, picking up where he left off. “I mean, you probably tell yourself nobody has to be the bitch, but come on, man, that’s not how it works. Somebody gets fucked, somebody’s the bitch. And it could’a been Crosby, fuck, he’d be perfect for it. But you wanted it to be _you_? Have some fucking self-respect, man.”

Zhenya’s shields have gotten much, much better since he first bonded with Sid, and they’re actually pretty good, now. But they must not be good enough, because something gets out, and Kohler smiles a predator’s smile.

“That’s good, man,” he says, at his next opportunity. “It’s good you know it’s fucked up. It’s good that it bugs you. I mean, being queer is one thing, I got nothing against queers, but you still got to be a _man_ , Malkin. And you’re not a man anymore, are you?”

The seconds are ticking down, and the tunnel is beckoning, but Kohler still gets one last jab in before the period’s over. With Zhenya bent to take the face-off, he hears over his shoulder, “I mean, come on, man... you let him put it _in_ you? You _like_ that?”

When the whistle blows to end the period, Zhenya heads down the tunnel in complete silence, then walks through the locker room into the corridor, and smashes his stick against the wall so hard that the pieces hit the opposite wall when they go flying. Breathing hard, he slumps down against the wall and puts his face in his hands.

He _cannot_ fight Kohler – that’s what Kohler wants, and besides, whatever damage Kohler manages to do to Zhenya will end up half on Sid, because of the bond, and that’s not acceptable. And the other thing he cannot do is tell Sid _any_ of this. Sid already feels bad about the fact that Zhenya _is_ the only one who gets fucked, and _is_ the only one who sucks dick, and even though he’s finally come around to believing that Zhenya loves blowing him, loves it when Sid fucks him… that understanding is fragile. If Sid thought that Zhenya was ashamed of what they do in bed, felt like less of a man because of it, it would rip him apart.

And Zhenya _isn’t_ … or he thought he wasn’t. When he and Sid are in bed together, he never feels emasculated or degraded. The first time Sid had fucked him, Zhenya had worried about it a little beforehand, worried that he might feel that way, but by the time Sid had tentatively brushed a fingertip over Zhenya’s hole, Zhenya had been too busy kissing Sid to spare a thought for the leftover prejudices of his teenage years. Of course he’d thought that stuff back when he was a kid—had treated Alyosha like shit because of it—but he thought he had scrubbed that poison out of his mind. He wasn’t going to be like the asshole boys who had hurt Sid when he was younger.

But he must be, at least a little bit, because Kohler’s chirping had hit a nerve somewhere, and he can’t deny that. And what bothers him most of all, more than anything Kohler’s said to him, is the fact that Kohler’s shit _does_ bother him.

“Hey, Geno.”

Zhenya looks up to see Sully standing over him. “Hey, Sully,” he says wearily.

“Kohler really getting to you, huh.”

“Yeah.”

One of the things that Zhenya likes about Sully is that that Sully doesn’t press him for more detail. He just asks, “You want me to talk to the refs?”

“You mean, is Kohler chirp me about me and Sid? Yes. But don’t talk to refs. Not do any good, and if Sid know Kohler say these things, he feel guilty.”

“Like it’s his fault that Kohler is such an asswipe?” Sully asks. He sighs. “I won’t say it makes any sense to me, but you know him better than I do. Burrows is getting under his skin, too. What a fucking mess.”

“Sorry, Sully.”

“It’s not your fault that Kohler and Burrows are fuckwads any more than it’s Sid’s fault, and you know it. Come on, you gotta get back in the room, G.”

“Yeah.”

Back in the locker room, Zhenya sits down next to Sid, who looks slightly less frustrated than he does. “Burrows is problem?” he asks, and Sid shakes his head.

“At first. But not now. He started out going after you, but I kept my shields up, so he figured it wasn’t working, and started in on me instead.” He shrugs. “Like I give a shit. What about Kohler?”

“You know you say a long time ago, about how media find every way to call you ‘faggot’ without say ‘faggot’? Is like that,” Zhenya says, which is true as far as it goes – he knows the refs have all been instructed to hand out automatic minors if they hear “faggot” or “cocksucker,” which is probably the reason Kohler’s taunts have gotten so creative.

“Asshole,” Sid sighs.

“We beat them. Then no one care what they say.”

“Yeah.” Sid smiles at him.

In the second period, Kohler doesn’t get any nicer. Sully tries changing up the line-matching, but without last change, it’s pretty hopeless.

“I can tell I’m making you mad,” Kohler tells him idly. “And before you started sucking Crosby’s dick, you’d have whaled on me for it. But I guess you’re used to taking it, now.” He smirks.

Zhenya pictures Sid’s face, then pictures Sid with a black eye, split lip, a torn cheek—that’s what will happen if he fights Kohler, and it is not fucking worth it. Besides, he meant what he told Sid during intermission – the way to shut the assholes up is by winning, and ending up in the box for doing something stupid is not going to get them the W.

They do win, in the end, on a garbage goal by Sid forty seconds before the end of the last period, and when Sid reels Zhenya in for a celebratory hug, Sid smirks at Burrows. Zhenya, in turn, squeezes Kohler’s hand in the handshake line until Kohler’s face turns white and his breathing goes shallow. “ _I hope you wash out of the AHL at the age of twenty-four and grow warts on your genitals_ ,” Zhenya says pleasantly, in Russian, and moves on down the line.

When Sid and Zhenya get back to their hotel room, Sid fixes Zhenya with a look. “You crushed Kohler’s hand, didn’t you?”

Zhenya sees no reason to deny it.

Sid bites his lip, obviously trying not to smile, and says sternly, “That was very immature.”

“Say ‘immature,’ mean ‘hot,’” Zhenya replies, smug. The bond doesn’t lie.

Sid admits, “It was a little hot,” looking up at Zhenya, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Was most hot,” Zhenya corrects, backing Sid against the door.

“I got the game-winning goal,” Sid points out. “I’m pretty sure that makes _me_ most hot.” His hands settle on Zhenya’s hips.

Zhenya’s heart feels so full of fondness that it might burst. “Sid always most hot,” he confesses, and ducks his head for a fervent kiss. One kiss turns into two, then three, with Sid getting increasingly handsy and flushed. He has this way of touching Zhenya, when they’re getting close to the line between making out and having sex, that’s possessive and gentle all at once – like Sid doesn’t see why he should have to grab and grip to make it clear to both of them that Zhenya is _his_. It’s too much for Zhenya to resist.

“I can blow you, Sid?” Zhenya gasps between kisses. “Please?” For a second, he hears an echo of Kohler’s voice in his head— _begging for Princess Crosby’s cock like a dog_ —but he shoves it aside with a shake of his head.

Sid breathes, “Yes, Geno, please, you can…” and Zhenya goes to his knees right there. Sid is leaning back against the hotel room door, and both of them are still in their game day suits, but Zhenya has no intention of waiting to get his mouth on Sid’s dick – as soon as he has Sid’s slacks unzipped and his boxers shoved down around his hips, he dives in. Sid isn’t fully hard yet, which Zhenya loves – he loves feeling Sid’s dick stiffen in his mouth, easy to fit at first, and then pressing against the back of his throat, pressing _in_ , making Zhenya work for it.

Once he gets Sid hard, Zhenya pulls back and teases the head of Sid’s cock with his closed lips, making Sid groan. He parts his lips over the tip and just breathes, about to take Sid back inside, when Kohler’s unwelcome voice intrudes again: _you let him put it_ in _you?_   Zhenya snarls, feeling the heat of mingled anger and shame in the pit of his stomach. He wraps his lips around the shaft and sinks down on Sid’s dick so fast he gags.

“Geno—” Sid reaches for his cheek, concerned, but Zhenya is not deterred – he sets a more reasonable pace and starts bobbing his head up and down Sid’s cock, loving the way Sid’s hand turns shaky against his face.

Zhenya realizes he’s holding Sid’s hips back against the door, keeping Sid from thrusting. It’s habit, not a conscious choice—and the fire that’s fueling this makes him let go of Sid’s hips and slide his hands back, back to Sid’s perfect ass, and urge him forward. He wants Sid to fuck his mouth, and Sid, after hesitating for a moment, obliges. He thrusts forward and Zhenya relaxes his throat, slides his mouth further down Sid’s dick, and gives up control to Sid. Sid takes that control, fucks Zhenya’s face in a steady rhythm, and Zhenya takes it. He takes it, and it’s so good: the way Sid’s moans get louder, deeper, the way that Sid—usually so controlled, so quiet—goes crazy, babbling all kinds of nonsense and flushing all the way down his chest.

Even with Zhenya’s permission to use his mouth, Sid can’t help being considerate – Zhenya can feel him keeping his thrusts slow, giving Zhenya time to breathe, and his hand on the back of Zhenya’s head is light, just enough pressure that he knows it’s there. Sid couldn’t be any other way, probably. And Zhenya loves that, too – that it’s the two of them, every time they touch. That Sid is still Sid, even with his dick down Zhenya’s throat, and that Zhenya, too, is still himself, even on his knees at Sid’s feet. What they do in bed doesn’t change who they are.

Sid’s thrusts are getting gradually faster, and Zhenya can tell that he’s close. There’s no place for technique when it’s like this – all Zhenya can do is shove down his gag reflex, keep his lips tight, and take it.

So he does.

He takes it, and he _loves_ it, loves being the one to make Sid come apart. He doesn’t _let_ Sid put his dick in him – he wants it, he asks for it. And yes, he begs for it, sometimes. The taste of Sid’s precome on his tongue and the weight of Sid’s hand on his head… those aren’t things he _allows_. Those are things he _craves_. It turns him on – partly because making Sid feel good turns him on, but partly because he just likes it in and of itself. He bends over for Sid and gets on his knees for Sid and on his back for Sid, and he loves all of it, _all_ of it, and fuck Kohler, and fuck all the rest of them. They don’t know a fucking thing.

Zhenya’s jaw is sore and his lips are raw and he’s going to sound tomorrow like he was doing exactly this all night, and it fills him with a savage satisfaction. When Sid comes down his throat, shaking and red, eyes clenched shut like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, Zhenya sucks and sucks until Sid whimpers and shies away, and he makes sure to swallow every drop.

Sid is leaning against the door like he might fall down at any minute, so Zhenya stands and presses his body against Sid’s, holding him up. When Sid finally opens his eyes, they’re wet, moisture gathering in the corners and catching in his lashes. “Geno,” he says softly, with a sweet, stunned smile. “Geno, that was amazing.”

“I like,” Zhenya says fiercely. “I like suck your cock. I like you fuck me.” He’s not really saying it to Sid—more to himself, and to Kohler—and Sid probably has no idea why Zhenya is so vehement about it, but he has to say it anyway, and he has to say it now, with the taste of Sid’s come still fresh in his mouth.

But maybe Sid understands better than Zhenya thought. The look he gives Zhenya is shrewd, narrow-eyed, but all he says is, “I like it, too. Can I jerk you off on the bed?”

And Zhenya’s not going to say no to that.

Sid starts stripping on his way over to the bed, and by the time he flops back on the bed and scowls at Zhenya, saying, “You’re wearing too many clothes,” he’s completely naked.

Zhenya didn’t even wait to take off his jacket or tie before going to his knees, so it takes him a while to divest himself of his game-day suit. While he tugs at his tie and eases his zipper down over his hard-on, Sid lies on the bed watching, eyes hungry. Sid has one hand behind his head, one leg propped up, and his free hand is tugging at his left nipple – he looks so fucking good, and what’s even better is that he obviously knows it, obviously wants Zhenya to stare and want and trip over his shoes because he’s so stupid with lust, just like he’s doing right now.

When Zhenya is naked, Sid says quietly, “Come here.” Zhenya walks over to stand by the side of the bed, still devouring Sid with his eyes, and Sid smiles. “You like looking at me?” he asks. He doesn’t wait for an answer before sitting up and running his hand down along Zhenya’s ribs, over Zhenya’s hip, down the front of Zhenya’s thigh. “I like looking at you, too,” he murmurs. He curls his hand around Zhenya’s waist and tugs until Zhenya is straddling him, and then pulls Zhenya even further down, until he’s covering Sid with his body. “I like touching you even better,” Sid says, and he sets his hand on Zhenya’s chest before tracing it down over Zhenya’s belly to Zhenya’s cock.

Zhenya gasps when Sid wraps his callused hand around him and starts to stroke. He tucks his face alongside Sid’s, cheek to cheek, so he can hear Sid draw in a breath, about to speak. “I’ve been thinking about this all night,” Sid tells him, oddly calm – Zhenya can read that he’s telling the absolute truth, but when he wrenches his brain away from the sweet friction of Sid’s hand around his cock, that makes no sense—because all night, they’ve been playing. All night, Burrows was—

“Yeah,” Sid whispers, like he can read what Zhenya’s thinking. “That’s why. I couldn’t stop thinking about it—about you, about this—because he wouldn’t _let_ me stop. He kept asking me – over and over again, all night.” He kisses Zhenya deeply, then breathes into Zhenya’s ear, “You like it, Crosby? You like being Evgeni Malkin’s bitch?”

Zhenya freezes, shocked, but Sid just nips gently at Zhenya’s neck, and the rhythm of his hand on Zhenya’s cock stays perfectly steady. Zhenya can barely read a thing through his shields, even though they’re skin-to-skin. And Sid’s voice is as steady as his hand when he continues, “He kept asking me, ‘Hey, Crosby… how does it feel to be a slut for your own fucking teammate?’”

Zhenya startles again at Sid’s filthy words—words neither of them has ever spoken in their bed—and feels a simultaneous rush of anger and something else, something that he doesn’t want to name. It’s that nameless something-else that powers him as his thrusts down into Sid’s hand get faster, sloppier, and his breathing speeds up. “Fuck,” he gasps, not sure if he’s cursing himself or Burrows, or both, but he can’t hide from his own arousal, and his cheeks burn. Sid whispers, “All night he kept saying, ‘Hey, Crosby, with your pretty mouth – how does it feel to be Evgeni Malkin’s _whore_?’” Zhenya moans, pushed to the edge, feeling his climax building in the pit of his stomach, twisted up inside.

“I told him the truth,” Sid murmurs, and Zhenya can feel Sid’s lips curve into a smile against his cheek. “It feels fucking _unbelievable_.” Zhenya can’t hold on for even a second longer. The strength of his orgasm feels like it might break him in half – he shakes through it, but Sid’s hands on him are gentle, and Sid is open to him again, giving off nothing but pure pleasure: his own, and pleasure at having made Zhenya feel good. Zhenya takes deep breaths, settling back down, while Sid’s hands stroke lightly over his chest and his arms.

When Zhenya has collected himself, he croaks, “You really say to him?”

He can read a little embarrassment coming off of Sid, but mostly guilty delight as Sid says, “Yeah. I did.”

“What he say back?” Zhenya asks, a little worried for Sid, but Sid giggles and replies, “He ran away.”

“He—” Zhenya gapes for a minute, then starts laughing. “He run away?”

Sid nods, looking extremely pleased with himself.

“This after… Hags penalty?”

Sid nods again, still giggling.

“I see that! You scare him good, Sid,” Zhenya tells him, in better spirits than he has been all night.

“Yep.” Sid wraps an arm around Zhenya’s shoulders, pulling him closer. “Serves him right.”

They make out lazily, eyes drifting closed, until there’s a knock at the door.

Sid groans and drags himself out of bed, and Zhenya follows – as he gets closer to the door, he frowns. “Is not team, Sid,” he warns.

Sid pulls on his boxers and reaches for his slacks. “Who is it?”

Zhenya reaches out with his reading, straining…

He blinks, shocked. “Is Burrows.”

Sid is just as surprised as Zhenya – he seems dazed as he grabs his slacks from off the floor and starts to step into them. Then he pauses, looks down at the clothing in his hand, and deliberately, resolutely, drops it and heads for the door.

“Sid,” Zhenya hisses, wide-eyed, “you have jizz on you!”

Sid’s determination only gets sharper. “Good,” he says.

He yanks open the door while Zhenya struggles to pull his jaw up off the ground.

“Can I help you, Alex?” Sid asks.

Burrows begins, “I wanted to apologize – I was way… uh, way out of… uh. Crosby?” His voice dies on the end of Sid’s name. He sounds kind of like he’s just been boarded. Twice.

Zhenya is getting a very clear impression through the bond that Sid wants him over there, so he comes up behind Sid and wraps an arm around Sid’s waist. He doesn’t bother putting on any clothes.

Sid makes a noise that is really not appropriate in public when Zhenya pulls him close. Getting some idea of the effect Sid is going for here, Zhenya rests his chin on Sid’s shoulder. “Come back to bed, Sid,” he wheedles, voice unmistakably wrecked. He doesn’t bother looking at Burrows.

“This isn’t a good time,” Sid says to Burrows, sounding viciously polite.

Burrows starts again, “I wanted to apologize—”

Sid cuts him off, “This isn’t a good time because we were in the middle of something _much_ more interesting than your bullshit apology.” Zhenya can feel Sid smirk, and the consternation he’s reading off of Burrows just about doubles. Sid continues, “If you were really sorry, you wouldn’t have said it in the first place. So fuck off.” And he shuts the door in Burrows’s face.

Neither of them speaks – Zhenya because he’s been struck speechless with lust, and Sid because he’s kind of freaking out, Zhenya can tell. But Sid calms down, and Zhenya rediscovers the use of his voice.

“Can I blow you again?” he asks, plaintively.

Sid bursts out laughing. “You liked that, huh?” He wiggles back against Zhenya’s chest, exuding intense self-satisfaction.

“Sid so fierce,” Zhenya mutters, and he starts attacking Sid’s neck with hickeys. “Make me want most.”

Sid starts steering them back toward the bed. “I don’t know if I can get it up again this soon,” he says, grinning. “But maybe you can take that as a challenge.”

Zhenya does.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to everyone for their advice about fandom social media! I now have a tumblr at [youhideastar](https://youhideastar.tumblr.com/) (same handle as my pinboard) - come say hi!


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